by Ravena F. on
DNA. Aptly named, as there is doubtless a massive collection of deoxyribonucleic acid coating the walls, floors and dark and dirty corners here, where plenty of base pairing takes place. (No base stacking though, as the security here is pretty alert.) End very nerdy portion of review. Through the years, they have consistently hosted a nice variety of parties/club nights, likely to tickle nearly everyone's dancing toes if they go on the right night. My current favorites are New Wave City (been going to this roaming 80's party since it was at the Trocadero! RIP), and Bootie mash-up nights. I would offer 3 stars because the bathrooms are fairly gross. But they get upped to 4 stars simply for staying open till 3am. (Late enough to avoid the pukey cab fights.) Also, the drinks are insanely strong. I'm still waiting for them to remodel in the shape of the majestic double helix. How cool would that be??? C'mon guys, who's with me?
by Juliann Monterroso on
Ah, MJQ, I knew you when. Back in the olden days, a mere pup in the basement of the Ponce Hotel, you grew up and moved down the street, transitioning from a literal underground upstart to venerable old man of the club scene. I, too, have aged with you, calling you first "MJQ" then "the Q" and now "the MJQ" with nary a trace of irony in my voice. It's been a long 13 years, hasn't it? Oh, occasionally we still see each other. The faces in the crowd may have changed, but the people are still much the same as back when Bill (both Clinton and Campbell) was in office. They were emo and tat'ed back when it meant something, they'd tell you....well, if they had invented the word emo back then. But I see you've grown more inclusive since the days that the doorman would tell frat boys who wandered in from Buckhead you were a gay club. Now I see you happily taking money from all, image be damned. You've been around for so long now, you've earned that right. You're the most racially mixed club I've seen in town. That's a good thing. Your Wednesday night still packs them in as my aged, sell-out ghost dances your floors; my physical self slumbering away. (Memories of those Wednesday nights still make me grin and shudder.) Your drinks are still reasonably-priced even as everything else rises out of control. You're still kind of grimy, kind of scummy, but you wear it well. (I've had the unfortunately experience of seeing you with the lights on and I forgive you.) So stay who you are, MJQ. Continue to welcome the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe cigarette smoke. And on the rare days when both the mind and body are willing, I'll see you there, struggling on the dance floor, trying not to break a hip.